A Different Kind of Hunger
by boldcastiel
Summary: Famine is making everyone in town go rabid for what they hunger, and it seems an angel of the Lord isn't even immune to his curse. (Set in season 5, episode 14: My Bloody Valentine)


If there was one thing Dean was craving right then, it was a good long shower. Not because Famine had tapped him, much like the rest of the town as it seemed. Dean shuddered with the thought - their encounter with Cupid that evening had left much to be desired.

The three of them, Sam, Castiel and himself had checked into a motel right in the heart of the town. After all, there was no safer place than the lion's den itself.

From their strategically requested room, they had a clear view of the busiest street, all the cafes, restaurants, as well as the hospital not five blocks to the east. At that point, the only person who could've offered them even more leads than their current circumstances, was Castiel. But as things turned out, angels weren't entirely immune to Famine's curse either. Rather, vessels. It'd barely been two days since they caught wind of this whole Famine deal, and Dean already couldn't remember the last time he'd seen their angel without a burger. He didn't seem to be able to hold a simple conversation without getting distracted by the prospect of another burger, or more specifically, red meat. Thus was the plight of having a need for a vessel.

Sam wasn't out of the loop either.

Demon blood. He craved demon blood. Time and time again, Dean had wondered a little sadly how he should look at his little brother now. There were many things for him to keep in mind. Of course, the one thing that jumped out the most was his father's words, drummed into his brain since they were kids. Look out for Sammy. What a hell of a job he was doing of that now.

Dean undressed along the way to the bathroom, checking over his shoulder that the door was closed before fully discarding his jeans. With both hands he couldn't count the number of times Castiel had walked in on him, completely oblivious to what he'd have happened to stumble upon. Most of the time, it was harmless. Incidents in the bathroom, getting dressed or undressed for whatever reason. Nothing too private. Yet. Dean had learned to do the checking for the angel. But there was always the tiny nagging feeling in the corner of his heart that told him he really wouldn't have minded if Castiel walked in, and stayed in.

Castiel was an angel of God. A holy man, person, species, whatever you wanted to call him and his kind. Dean knew a lot of wrong and he did a lot of wrong. But lusting after an angel of the Lord was definitely up there in his top ten list of don't-ever-go-there.

But Castiel had said it himself. "Dean and I do share a more profound bond."

Dean tried not to think about the angel anymore as he stepped into the shower. The pressure wasn't fantastic and it wasn't very warm either. On the upside, it was enough to give Dean the kick he'd needed. Feeling fresher and with a clearer mind, he towelled off, threw on a t-shirt and his old jeans and walked back out into the room.

At a glance, no one would've even suspected anything was up with the town. Looking out the window, Dean could see nothing more than regular people doing their regular stuff. And that was what they were all supposed to be doing. Red lights, blue, purple and neon orange. To the left, a vertical panel ran along the end of the block where fluorescent pink letters announced "motel". Two floors down on the street, a diner's sign flickered lazily, the image ricocheting around the black windows and passing cars.

It was Valentines' Day. Young couples, fresh and stupidly in love, populated the streets that night. Just a bunch of random normal people living their normal lives. There were countless times Dean'd wished he could be like them, the next guy he passed in the supermarket, just the next cop who told him to park somewhere else. Regular. But, no. That was not what this God up in Heaven had planned for them.

Dean cleared the bed of any articles of clothing and collapsed into its downy embrace. Praying for a peaceful, dreamless sleep seemed even more farfetched than asking to reanimate a corpse at that point. A quick glance at the bedside stand told him it was two minutes past midnight. Dean closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Castiel was standing over him.

Dean jumped, reasonably enough. 'Jesus Christ!'

Castiel frowned, clearly in yet another bout of confusion that seemed to plague any period he was with the brothers.

'My name's Castiel,' he said. Dean gave him a weird look, to which the angel responded with even more confusion.

'Nevermind,' Dean said, and began to look around as though in doing so, he might answer his own question. 'What time is it? Was I…?'

'Sleeping?' Castiel filled for his pause. 'I have to admit, I am not sure. I am still unfamiliar with human habits.'

'Habits?' Dean gave him his second weird look in as many minutes. It was obvious that if their conversation continued at this rate, they'd be getting nowhere, very, very slowly.

'Okay, well, where's Sam?' Dean asked.

'If we're still on the topic of your kind's sleeping patterns, then given that it's nearly three in the morning, Sam would be sleeping,' Castiel answered.

'Oh right, because halos don't need to sleep.'

Castiel blinked. 'Halos are inanimate objects. Of course they don't need to sleep.'

Dean gave him a hard look that said to get on with it or get out. He got on with it.

'You are familiar with Famine,' Castiel trailed off when he saw something flash in Dean's eyes. 'Well, yes, of course you are. At any rate, Dean, I find myself, even as an angel, under his deadly influences.'

'We know that. You and White Castle,' Dean was getting impatient. It was not like the Castiel he knew to beat around the bush. 'So?'

'Dean. I'm hungry.'

Dean blinked. 'That's it?'

'You don't understand, Dean,' Castiel said, seeming to grasp the severity of his dilemma if no one else did. 'I'm hungry. I'm hungering for something.'

'Yes, that's the general understanding we have of "hungry". But what about it? Red meat, right?'

Castiel inhaled deeply, his blue eyes flickering with something. Something. Dean wondered what he was seeing tonight. His impatience had morphed into curiosity. He didn't push the angel, only waited for him to say what had clearly been on his tongue and on his mind for a good portion of the day.

'I would usually dismiss such a desire as one inherited, unfortunately, from Jimmy,' Castiel explained. 'But I hate to admit that this is something I can't pin on his humanity.' He stared at Dean in the most bizarre manner. The man sat up again, starting to run his hand over his face, but stopping mid motion as if unsure of what protocol was suitable for such an occasion. He opened his mouth, but did not know what to say. The angel looked… embarrassed?

'Cas,' Dean pronounced his name carefully, the beginnings of a frown creasing his forehead. The angel fidgeted under his gaze. 'Are you saying that you're somehow under Famine's curse too?' When Castiel nodded, it just suddenly made Dean realize what he'd been on about this whole time. It all made sense. His dodging around the subject, his inherent discomfort from just standing there. 'You're hungry,' Dean said. 'This isn't Jimmy talking, this is you.'

Perhaps is Castiel had known some human phrases, he might've replied no shit, Sherlock. But he didn't. He only nodded. Much to his surprise, Dean began to laugh.

'Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, we all get our cravings,' he said, gesturing to an invisible public. 'So what're you looking for? Drink? Drugs, women…?'

There weren't many things that could silence Dean Winchester. In fact, there was only one thing capable of doing so, and that was what Castiel said next. Something neither of them were really quite prepared for.

'Dean,' he said. 'I'm hungry for you.'

xxx

Dean was convinced that there was nothing anyone else could've ever said that could possibly surprise him more. For the first and the last time in his life, in all probability, Dean Winchester stammered.

'Come again?' he said. Of course, the both of them knew that Castiel needn't repeat himself.

The silence dragged for a considerable length of time, during which Dean stared at the angel with his mouth agape, and the angel himself shuffled awkwardly where he stood.

'I know what that must've sounded like,' Castiel began, to which Dean scoffed.

'No,' he said. 'I really don't think you do.'

'Dean, please try to understand,' Castiel said. 'I don't think I've ever felt like this before. It's very an intense feeling. Unquenchable thirst, I don't know what humans call it.'

'Horny,' Dean said flatly. Unsurprisingly, Castiel seemed confused by the term. The man rolled his eyes, deciding to put it very bluntly. 'You're feeling hot, touchy. You want to fuck, am I right?'

The angel flushed an even darker shade of crimson. 'Well, yes,' he said quietly. 'I'm sorry if I've angered you, Dean. I must tell you that I don't expect you to respond to this.'

Dean shook his head incredulously. 'You can't just let me in on something like this and then expect to walk away.'

Castiel lowered his eyes, suddenly taking great interest in the design of the carpet. 'I'm sorry, Dean. I had to tell you. You could say it has been "killing me from the inside out" today. I'm sorry-'

'Stop fucking apologizing!' Dean climbed out of the bed. There was no use trying to go back to sleep now. He closed the space between himself and the angel, the latter backing off a little as if Dean had gotten too close. Dean himself was fairly surprised with how Castiel had backed right off. If anyone had ever needed the cue for personal space, it was Cas. Dean checked himself, making sure to lower his voice a little. 'I'm not mad at you, Cas. This is just… new.'

Castiel's posture relaxed slightly, but the unease didn't leave his features.

'I'm s-' Dean's expression shut him up quickly. Now they stood there, both equally uncertain of what to do next. Dean was torn.

Cut and dry, this was what he'd always wanted, always been waiting for. The number of nights he'd been stirred into wakefulness by a dream that had been far too stimulating, and the countless hours after that, which he spent telling himself it was wrong to think that way. Dean had always prided himself as a man capable of getting what he wanted when he wanted it. That was until he met Castiel. The angel made him question everything he was doing, ask himself whether it was right or wrong. And this mediator, this physical conscience of his just so happened to also be the biggest wrong in the book.

Dean was finding it extremely hard to believe that what he'd always prayed for was actually standing right in front of him, literally offering himself to him. Despite everything, he forced himself to think beyond tonight, beyond all the amazing things that had the potential to transpire. And the beauty of it was that no one ever needed to know. But tomorrow. The morning after. Those were always the hardest. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd been to bed with a woman and woke up with her the next day. It was unheard of, for him, of all people. Maybe that was why this whole issue of Cas' was driving him up the wall.

This was going to be a first for them all. And Dean definitely liked being sure of things, especially in bed. More accurately, when he was fucking another man. Or angel.

'I think it's better if I just leave,' Castiel said at last. He turned and quickly made for the door.

Dean didn't really think about what he was doing, not even until after he'd done it. All he knew was that somehow and at some point, he grabbed Castiel by the arm, whose hand was already on the door handle. Suddenly, Dean wished he could just zap off to someplace like the angels did. Get into some awkward or sticky situation, and you could just disappear. Of course, you'd still have to answer for things when you came back, which was inevitable.

But he couldn't zap anywhere. He was a human, a man, and now he had to make up an excuse as to why he was holding on to Castiel like he was a lifeline.

'Dean?' Castiel said.

Dean pulled him in and kissed him violently on the lips. It was hard, but nowhere near fast. Dean gave himself ample time to taste the angel, for the first time, on his lips, his tongue. He felt him gasp against his mouth, stunned. Dean could imagine him wondering what in Hell this strange contact was. A kiss. Dean realized Castiel had probably never kissed or been kissed by anyone in his life.

Finally, they parted for air. Castiel didn't move. He stood rooted to the spot, blue eyes as wide as saucers. Dean let go of his arm, the angel let it drop back to his side. He swallowed, albeit gingerly. 'Dean.'

Dean waited for the reprimanding that never came as the angel leapt forward and kissed the man again, lacing his arms around his neck in an effort to pull him closer. Of course, Dean didn't complain. He returned the kiss eagerly, crowding the angel into the door, moving his hands from his face, to his neck, caressing the warm skin, fingers gliding over the angularity of his jaw. It seemed impossible for Dean to just keep his hands in one place. He'd waited for this for so long. Now that it was finally within his grasp, there was no way he was letting go.

He pushed one hand up the front of Castiel's shirt, the first thing he felt being the warmth of his skin, and the second, how fucking fast his heart was racing. Just for him.

Dean changed his course, heading down and down. He broke the kiss to watch the angel's reaction as he pressed his hand against his cock, which was clearly outlined behind his jeans. He wasn't disappointed. Castiel froze, a shudder running through him that turned his head up. A strangled moan escaped his reddened lips. Consciously, or unconsciously, he rolled his hips, rubbing himself against Dean's hand as if begging for more.

Swiping his tongue along the seam of his lips, Dean dove back into his mouth. One hand, he kept on his jeans, obliging him and rubbing him through the material. His other hand, he kept on the angel's neck, fingers raking through his hair from the base of his neck, grabbing a fistful and pulling just slightly, testing the waters. Approval came in a short moan, almost subdued.

'Do you like it when I do that, Cas?' Dean asked, breathing against the corner of the angel's mouth. He knew Castiel was dying to keep going, resisting the strain he was putting on his hair. His lips were red, and his cheeks flushed. The dirtiest look had come into the angel's eyes. Dean's gut was tightening simply in anticipation, just waiting for him to answer. 'Tell me,' he said.

Castiel's hands were pushing desperately against Dean's torso, long fingers splayed over the thin fabric, begging to see more, feel more. His vessel was reacting for him, grinding his hips and weakening his knees. It would've been a betrayal for the angel, something of a great embarrassment. If only it didn't feel so good.

'Please, Dean,' he groaned. His hands fell lower, lower. His nails dug into Dean's belt, tugging impatiently at the button and zipper. He felt the man jerk at his touch, as he pressed his palm against the outline of his cock through his jeans. He couldn't say he was entirely oblivious to what these human desires entailed, still, it required a little bit of guesswork. But he figured in this case that if it felt right, then it could only be right.

Castiel fought against Dean's hold on his hair, bringing their lips together once more. Of course, Dean couldn't resist forever. The angel's mouth, both wet and hot, was something familiar and always welcomed. 'Please,' Castiel said again. And he dropped to his knees. The thick, black want that pooled in his guts from this motion alone was beyond blasphemous. He wasn't entirely sure of what to do next, but he knew what he wanted.

He placed his hands on either side of Dean's hips and began to lick him through his jeans. One action led into another as he sucked him harder, desperate to taste him for real, to smell him and make him want this all the more.

'Fucking Hell, Cas,' Dean was having trouble just standing upright. He put his hands in the angel's hair, as though that might've offered him some form of support. Castiel prayed for God's forgiveness even as he undid the button and pulled the zip down with his teeth. He had never felt more ashamed or more hungry in his life. But who would've thought sinning could be so amazing?

Thou shalt not want.

Castiel closed his eyes and took Dean's cock into his mouth. Then his mind blacked out and all he could focus on, all he could really process was Dean's fingers pulling his hair and the taste of his cock on his tongue.

Dean thrusted his hips once, involuntarily. He instantly felt bad for fucking the angel's mouth, but the groan that ripped its way through his throat was the product of something beyond pure bliss. There was nothing similar about getting blown by a woman and getting blown by Cas. There was nothing in the way he loosened his jaw, massaging his length with his tongue that could ever remind Dean of a woman, make him wish otherwise. There was nothing female about the deep, masculine moans that shuddered his every breath.

Castiel hollowed his cheeks, using his grip on Dean's hips to take more of him into his mouth. He repressed every instinct to gag, every instinct that told him this was wrong. It was more of trial and error, since this was his first time. He didn't expect Dean to be giving him any instructions, not with the way he already seemed preoccupied with suppressing every sound that bubbled into his throat.

Dean pressed his fingers at the roots of Castiel's hair, feeling the sweat that had begun to form. When he closed his eyes, he could only imagine what he would do to the angel if they were in bed. He would fuck him so hard, taste the sweetness of his mouth, drive him wild with lust. It was hard to erase the picture Dean had formed in his mind of what Cas would look like when he came. It was almost surreal when Dean remembered that this was an angel of God he was talking about.

'Cas, look at me. Look at me,' he said. The angel opened his eyes. Dean tilted his head up so that he had to look at him. There was nowhere he could run, no one else he could turn to for help. And the primal desire that shone in the angel's blown pupils threw Dean farther than he'd have ever expected. He didn't exactly look beautiful just on his knees, sucking him off. But if it wasn't the hottest thing Dean had ever seen in his life.

Dean came suddenly in the angel's mouth, taking the both of them by surprise. He'd always had such control over himself, but seeing Castiel just so ready to please him, it pushed him over the edge.

He guided Castiel to his feet, catching his lips as he rose. His mouth was hot, lips overly wet from the come he hadn't swallowed. He could taste himself on his tongue.

'On the bed. Pants off,' he heard himself order. Castiel obeyed wordlessly, but never once did his eyes leave Dean's. It was hard for the man to decipher the angel he'd once known from the one he'd made of him.

Dean climbed on top of him, bunching the jeans in his hands once he'd removed them and throwing them aside. Each of them quickly worked off their shirts, fingers fumbling with the buttons. Dean got his off first, and he couldn't stand to wait. He tore the last three buttons on the angel's shirt, kissing him fiercely as he cast their clothes to the ground. He placed his knees on either side of Castiel's hips, making sure that he got the most friction possible. The angel bucked under him, brow furrowing as if he was trying to concentrate solely on the contact he was giving him. 'Dean,' he groaned, grabbing furiously at his own hair. 'I need you now!'

There was nothing Dean wanted more than to oblige him, bury himself all the way in him and hear him curse because it was tearing him apart inside. His cock was throbbing in his hand as he guided himself to his entrance, struggling to make sense of things through the red haze that had come down over his eyes. Then suddenly, he wasn't sure. Uncertainty washed over him in a wave of icy air. He looked down and saw Castiel on his back, red mouth open with his hands in his hair, begging him to be inside him. His chest was flushed, but his skin maintained its fair qualities. Dean realized he'd never actually seen the angel without a shirt on before, let alone completely naked. He realized he'd never actually known the full extent of his build. From his well muscled arms, to the smooth plane of his torso. He was skinny, but not overly so. His waist was narrow, flowing nicely into his hipbones, which served a perfect way to hold him down, pull him closer.

'Are you sure, Cas?' Dean asked quietly, truthfully. The angel blinked and looked at him, as though trying to see through his pleasure, hear over the blood rushing in his ears. Another second, and Dean was certain he was going to lose it. 'Do you want this?'

Castiel was silent. For Dean, it seemed to drag on for an eternity.

Then slowly, almost shyly, Castiel raised himself up and kissed him, gently. Nothing like the burning, ravaged kisses like before. This one was soft, chaste. In vast contrast to what would follow.

And that was all the answer that Dean needed.

He was already there, mostly. He could feel the angel shaking; hot, but still uncertain. He leaned down, kissed him once more, for longer this time, and pushed into him.

The saliva helped, just a little bit. He went in easy enough though, the angel was so wet. God. Dean couldn't hold still to savour his heat for another moment. He drew back out about half way and pushed back in. Castiel's back arched, choking back a cry. Dean dug his fingers into his hips, using the extra leverage to get as deep in him as was humanly possible. It was an impossibly good feeling, a fire that was sweet where it burned.

There was nothing angelic about the way Castiel groaned, spreading his legs further. Dean could barely take his eyes off him. He was fixated on the angel arching, rolling his hips. He was beyond sinful.

Castiel was bucking so hard, he used his weight to hold him down. The angel's hands scrambled for the security of the metal framework of the bed, pinning himself to the headboard. Where Dean was just holding on to his control, Castiel had lost it a long time ago. Any fragment of an illusion Dean had left that angels were without lust went out the window the very second he realized Cas seemed to get off being held down.

'Shit, Cas,' he said. 'Do you like it when I hold you down?'

'Shut up,' the angel choked.

As if to make his point, Dean readjusted his hold on him, lifted him off the bed a little and used the extra height to bring him down on him. His chest erupted in a flurry with the sensation. 'Jesus Christ, Cas, you're fucking tight.' He tried it again, putting more force into his thrust upward, watching the angel's face for any form of response.

Suddenly, Castiel tensed, moaning almost painfully. He pressed his hand across his mouth, attempting to stifle himself. ' Dean,' he whimpered. His chest heaved with every motion, his groans seeming to force their way from his stomach. 'Dean, please. Not there. It hurts. You're killing me.'

In any other situation, Dean would've been worried. He would never hurt Cas. But in this case, he knew exactly what he had done. He bent over, placing a soft kiss on his ear. 'It's a good hurt, Cas. I promise.'

He renewed his vigour, aiming upward just like he did before, replicating everything right down to the response that he received, gaining another cry from the angel. The desperation on his face was immense. Castiel bit into his own arm, muting the cry that threatened to erupt from his chest. But he couldn't hold it back. It was a wildfire, burning him from the inside out. He wondered if this was what death felt like because it was certainly killing him. Maybe that was why they called it the Little Death.

'Dean, please,' he pleaded through clenched teeth. Every word was punctuated with a moan produced by the force that Dean pushed back into him. There was no feeling quite like it. 'I can't. Please, I can't.'

Dean freed one hand to take hold of his chin and he drew their mouths together. The angel's every breath was hot and erratic, washing over Dean's lips whenever they parted even for a second. Hearing Castiel's gasps and cries because of him, for him, drove Dean even closer to the brink. The angel's eyes were closed, brows furrowed, face flushed from his cheeks to the base of his neck. Dean's eyes followed the trail, staring for a moment as he watched the angel writhe, buck underneath him. He leant down and kissed his neck, sucking at one spot, working his tongue over the area he knew a bruise would form. Who cared if someone saw it tomorrow? Who cared if Cas went back to his fucking garrison and they saw him. Marked. Claimed by a mortal man. Castiel obviously didn't think about that either as he craned his neck, muttering soft words of approval even as he reached a hand between them and began to touch himself.

Dean was pleasantly surprised. Of all things the angel had done tonight, pleasuring himself was one thing Dean had yet to see. Not that he was complaining. It was fucking hot.

He licked a trail up the side of Castiel's throat, feeling his rapid pulse beneath his tongue as they wound him up tighter and tighter. He knew neither of them could take this for much longer. Now the angel was meeting him halfway, bucking his hips in fluid motions. Dean drew back further this time, until he was almost completely out, before thrusting deeper than he'd ever done, as hard as he could.

The angel broke instantly. His back arched and his mouth fell open as he moaned a dirty, guttural moan, and came in his own hand.

Dean watched him come, the sight driving him even more insane than ever. He was beautiful, the most beautiful thing Dean had ever known. Head thrown back, red lips parted in a moan that only the mortal, the living could achieve because this was so precious. Love. And pleasure.

He seized Castiel's lips once more before coming himself, riding out his own orgasm in the angel, trying to maintain the rhythm in all the mess he'd made. Of Cas, and of himself. He felt like this was the hardest and longest he'd ever come in his life. The world whited out, and all that was left to him was the rushing of the blood in his head and the feeling of how hot and how tight Castiel was. He could feel every part of him, every side pressing down on him so hard it was hard to keep going. It was fucking bliss.

Dean didn't hear himself come, but he knew Castiel did. He couldn't see anything, but he could feel everything. Every touch and every move hurt as his skin flashed with the tendrils of ecstasy that clung to him still. When the world finally came back into focus, Castiel was looking up at him. His chest rose and fell with these tiny breaths he was taking that were almost in awe, as if he really couldn't believe what had just happened.

Then he said very, very quietly. 'Dean.'

They kissed. Slowly, but far from gently. Dean touched his cheek, feeling the heat that radiated from his skin and how intense it was this up close. The night air nipped at his bare back, and for the first time since the start of it all, Dean felt cold.

They parted gradually, their eyes tracking each other's as Dean sat back up. He placed his hand on the angel's chest, gathering himself, picking up the pieces and putting them back together. But they could never be the same again.

Castiel reached his hand up and mirrored what Dean had done before, stroking his stubbled cheek just gently with the sides of his fingers. Dean lay down beside the angel, allowing him to curl into his chest. He turned his head on the pillow and put his nose in Castiel's hair and kissed him on the forehead, just to let him know it was all right. They were good. And Dean himself believed that.

It was almost five in the morning. Dean draped his arm over the Castiel's waist and kissed him again.

'Go to sleep, Cas,' he said. Another first for the angel.

Dean made a mental note to thank Famine if they ever met, before he too fell asleep.


End file.
